


stars.

by oblivixsity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Lot Of It Yay, Actor Victor Nikiforov, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Basically Yuuri Is An Aspiring Musician And Victor Is A Famous But Lonely Actor, Both My Boys Are Lowkey Depressed, But I’m Working On It!!!, Existentialism, Famous Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Musician Katsuki Yuuri, Road Trips, This Story Still Needs A Lot Of Development, Yuuri Can Sing!!!, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivixsity/pseuds/oblivixsity
Summary: empty roads and starry skies mark new beginnings.





	1. street lamps.

The sound of crickets was the only thing that filled the damp night air.

Back pressed against the wet grass, Yuuri kicked his dirty converse at the darkened sky, as if he could reach far enough to hit the stars and demand a refund for the fate they had given him.

He really needed to get out of this town.

He knew he couldn’t. Not anytime soon, anyways.

He sighed, glaring at the stars dotting the night sky.

It was their fault.

Their fault he’d ended up here.

(Or, that’s what he’d keep telling himself).

 

—-

 

Yuuri trudged back through the field, and by the time he’d reached the cracked street lit only by a flickering street lamp, his converse were caked with mud. Again.

He simply grumbled nonsense to himself, breaking the silence of the night as he made the familiar trek back into the tiny, dimly lit town.

He passed the diner, pausing briefly to watch as the Open sign flickered, but he didn’t stop. He turned the corner into a dirty alley, before climbing onto a trash can and swinging himself up onto the fire escape of an old, run-down apartment building. His apartment building.

He climbed the fire escape until he hit the top floor, and then reached for the window sill.

He had left it open just enough to slip it open, and pushed it upwards, climbing through and collapsing onto the ragged carpet inside.

Yeah, he didn’t have to sneak around like this, but his roommate had become incredibly curious about his frequent midnight outings. Phichit had a nosy nature overall, and his concern for his friend often limited Yuuri’s freedom.

He stood up, turning to close the window before chucking his shoes off somewhere into the mess of his room, and throwing his jacket onto his desk chair.

He sighed, sinking back down onto the carpet, and took a look around his dark room.

This apartment really was a shithole. The carpet was dirty and falling apart, there were cracks in the bathroom tile, The door to his closet had been broken since he’d moved there.

But he’d have to deal with it for now.

He eyed his guitar case that sat propped up against his desk, music sheets and art spilling onto it. He smiled softly. The dim light that filtered in from the street lamp nearby glinted over the smooth leather. It was his prized possession, and the reason he was putting up with this empty town in the first place.

And it would get him a lot farther, he knew. Someday.

 

—

 

Twenty-five, rich, famous, and undeniably attractive - to the world, it seemed Victor Nikiforov had it all.

He had struck gold in his acting career at 17, playing the young apprentice of a hero in some big action movie.

But Victor hadn’t wanted to be an actor. His parents were just rich and had connections, and one thing had led to another.

Now he had more money and fame than they ever did, but hell did that come with a price.

He was lonely. Cliche, he knew, but Hollywood was a seriously lonely industry. 

No matter how many people you knew, how many parties you went to, how many fans screamed your name and came to your premiers, the entire job revolved around being the best. Beating everyone else out. There wasn’t much room for relationships within that.

So yeah. Victor was lonely, tired of the fame he hadn’t asked for, and he wanted, needed a break.

He had begged and pleaded his manager (he hadn’t signed off for any films for this year yet! he had just finished one anyways!) and now, two weeks after the premier and interviews and hype, he was alone on an empty road for a full month.

He had managed to get a whole month to himself, to do whatever he pleased. To forget that he had responsibilities and press and faking to go back to.

Yeah, it had fucked with scheduling a bit, but he hadn’t had a break in almost eight years, and totally deserved it.

Victor didn’t really know how he ended up with a single suitcase shoved in the tiny back seat of his beat-up truck (he had saved up for it himself as a teenager to spite his parents, and couldn’t will himself to get rid of it) and the open road, but the night was calling.

He didn't know where he was going. Hell, already he had no idea where he even was. 

But he didn’t care. Because though his destination was unclear, no matter what he found at the end of the road, whenever or wherever that may be, for once in his life, he would never ever forget it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya friends! i had this idea as a spurr-of-the-moment thing in the middle of the night, and it kept me up so i scribbled it down and here we are!
> 
> the plot and storyline overall still needs a lot of development and i’m trying to figure out where i want it to go but i wanted to get this out as motivation to keep writing! hope you enjoyed!!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/oblivixsity)


	2. neon signs.

Victor sat upon the roof of his beat up truck, hands resting on the cool metal.

It was only his second night on the road, and this time he hadn’t been able to find a motel to crash in.

Around 2 A.M. he had given up driving and decided to just bunk in his car.

And yet, he couldn’t sleep. In the cramped back seat on the side of a pitch black road in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t sleep.

So as any smart human would do in the dark far from civilization, he climbed on top of his car to look at the stars.

The night sky was beautiful this far from light pollution, especially Los Angeles. There had been almost none at all in the busy city, and he hardly remembered having time to stare at the sky when we ventured outside his hometown for films.

He had been all over the world, and yet he had never actually sat back for a moment to look up.

Thousands, millions of stars dotted the inky sky.

It was godly, magical, as if it couldn’t be touched by mortal hands.

(Leave it to  _ humans _ to find a way to destroy a god)

He sighed and pulled his hands back into his chest, laying down fully and shivering slightly.

He probably should’ve put on something warmer before he left the safety of his truck, but the night had been calling and he hadn’t given temperature any thought.

It’s funny how much he had adjusted to LA’s heat in the decade he’d been there - he was Russian, the cold here should not affect him nearly as much as it did.

He sighed.

Sometimes he wished he’d never moved to America.

Sometimes he wished he could’ve been a normal teenager, and lived a normal life.

Maybe then he’d be happier, maybe he’d have someone.

If only he could go back and warn his younger self. Alas, that was impossible. He couldn’t change the past, so he’d just have to take this month as it was and somehow return to the dreaded bleakness of fame when it ended.

Wow. He would not have said that a couple years ago.

 

—

 

Two days after his previous nightly excursion, Yuuri sat on a barstool on a tiny stage, strumming his guitar as nobody listened.

It was a shitty gig, but there were a lot of people there at the late time and it payed well.

Of course, having a lot of people there in no way meant they were listening.

Not that they usually paid much attention to him.

He was done there before he even processed starting, and walked out of the beat up bar, guitar case slung over his shoulder.

He sighed as he walked down the empty street lit softly by street lamps and neon signs from shop windows.

The world was quiet at this time of night.

He walked by the old diner, brushing his fingers along the dirty windows as he passed. His fingertips left tracks in the dust, and he hummed softly in sync with the thrum of the neon signs behind the glass.

He sighed softly as he stepped out of the colored light and into the soft lamplight once more.

This existence was pointless.

Before he could begin one of his increasingly common spirals, he readjusted the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder and continued back to his dirty, run down apartment.

Back to the tiny hell he went.

 

—

 

His third night on the road, Victor stopped in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere for the night.

He booked a room in some tiny, beat-up hotel, thanking whatever deity lay above that the receptionist hadn’t recognized him.

He was way too tired to deal with the world right then.

And yet, somehow, despite that utter exhaustion, Victor lay awake at a hellish hour with no possibility of sleep.

He shifted on the uncomfortable motel bed, before giving up and rolling out of the warm sheets.

He sat up into the cold air, shivering slightly. Grabbing his shoes, keys, and a jacket from his bag, Victor opened the motel-room door and emerged into the night.

It was a cloudless, windy night, and the stars stretched the sky into oblivion.

Victor smiled softly as he watched the sky. Nights like these made the world feel endless, and the feeling of being so small and meaningless was simultaneously crushing and exhilarating.

He pulled on his jacket against the chill, and wandered aimlessly down the street. Sometimes a loud mind at night required a little aimlessness.

He instinctively came to a stop in front of some old, run down diner a few blocks down. It was still open, the neon signs in the window flickering colorfully.

He didn’t know why, but for some reason his gut led him to push open the diner door and enter into the warm, welcoming air inside.

Maybe it was simply fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya this is simultaneously one of the most cliche and one of the most existential fics i’ve ever written 
> 
> hope y’all r enjoying reading this as much as my depressed ass is enjoying writing it
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/oblivixsity)


End file.
